Saint Andrews - Memorabilia lyrics
You're doing all this fucking just give that shit back, nigga...
I ain't even fucking play out here
Yall niggas just playing and joking around. Shit ain't no fucking joke nigga
Just give me that shit back, nigga. What the fuck
I'd do anything to get that back nigga. Put that on my life, nigga
Put that on anybody I love, nigga. For real, nigga
Shit, y'all niggas playing, man. I need that shit, nigga. Fuck
I need yesterday, nigga. Fuck tomorrow
I made last night some memorabilia
So nostalgic, She'll remember ain't no nigga realer
Stay true to this path because it's been within us
Back when tee's were 3X and rims were spinnas
Old heads used to send me to store
Bopping past 'rillo guts thinking "What was that for?"
Jay was back doing beats I would snap on
But they was snapping for a block they could trap on
But that was over west, late night, mask on
While I take a 40 to the head and get passed more
And I'm thinking "Why I fuck with these niggas?"
One simple conclusion, "These my fucking niggas"
I done seen shit most niggas ain't heard of
Killed my innocence, I'm innocent, it ain't murder
That's a suicidal picture I could paint further
But you would brush it off, so it ain't no love at all
Well I'm back in the office, rap is retarde
Killing careers like "get back in your coffin"
[Lyrics from: https:/lyrics.az/saint-andrews/-/memorabilia.html]
Your grave's dug by an immaculate artist
And I ain't phased by who's rapping the hardest
Pardon me if I'm lacking a conscience
But my conscious thoughts are driven back to my nonsense
And they tell you it's a wrap if you're honest
But if in me you see them, then what would that accomplish
Now I can combine syllables when I ridicule
Like "You niggas is pitiful, few triggers, I'm killing crews
You bitch, this the interlude, rudest when in interviews
I'm cooler than these niggas who be drooling for these bitches too"
But bitch I ain't no backpacker
I could get your girl high, break her back after
Give her back spasms, it's a bad habit
I just give her dope dick, call me crackmatic
I just rose from the concrete where arms meet
Like tug of war with a martyr when I'm in arms reach
Guardian angel letting me trip and fall
And the devil on my shoulder picked me up, screaming "Ball!"
So I turn to my niggas and face a L
I'd rather face my demons, fuck facing myself
I raise hell, never stooping to that level
Boxed in like the Stoop Kid, but I'm in
A position to be in condition
Where position my mission and take control of my opposition
No pot to piss in, just vision, a vision to see me winning
Even though a blind atheist could probably see me sinning
Ooh and sin I do
Cold shoulders in the winter, that's what winners do
So if you need one to cry on, you're stuck with me
And I'm so exhausted, everybody's trying to muffle me
Luckily, it's a couple people that fuck with me
Apple ain't fall far but I chopped down the fucking tree
Man, I cuss too much, I got fucking problems
But she told me "Nah, for real, you got fucking problems"